


absolutes

by stevebucky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s02e22 All Hell Breaks Loose, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27890935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebucky/pseuds/stevebucky
Summary: There’s black and white, and then there’s not.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59





	absolutes

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this drabble in 20 minutes after watching the s2 finale for the millionth time a few days ago. maybe i'll post more snippets like this during episodes in the future since i'm rewatching the whole damn show. you can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/parjad). you can find my other, longer, non-spn fics [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/billykaplan/works).

Dean designates the brooding as Sam’s job. Sam’s eyebrows pinch together, creating a cute wrinkle that Dean will deny ever calling cute in his head, and he gets this prissy-bitch set to his jaw, and Sam broods. He’s good at it. Dean drowns his sorrows in booze, Sam broods, and it works. 

It works until Sam gets a knife in the back. 

Absolutes exist in their bubble they’ve made for themselves. Spirits, demons, werewolves, vampires, all of them—you gank the sons of bitches and move on. Black and white. Then there’s Gordon and the cows’ blood vamp nest; there’s Molly, the spirit who wasn’t hurting anyone; there’s Madison, who was killing others but didn’t know it. Little chips that knock at Dean’s psyche and rattle around. There’s Sam, who Dad told him he may have to kill, who sympathizes with the monsters they hunt, who gives life to, well, life. 

There’s Sam, whose lifeless body has this stillness that fills Dean’s blood with ice. 

There’s black and white, and then there’s not. 

So Dean broods. He sets his jaw and knocks some Jack back. Thinks, _What’s dead should stay dead_. It’s the mantra that’s kept him going all these years, like water is wet, the sky is blue, what’s dead should stay dead, Sam is his little geek brother—

_Sam_. 

Life and blood are what’s kept him going all these years. There’s life in their souls, blood on both their hands, desire and crawling hunger that erupts and needs to be satiated. They’re hunters. They’re lovers, in the twisted sense of every breath, every heartbeat exists solely for the other. One, two, one. Dean himself is still alive even though Sam—but not alive, per se. More like a shell. He can breathe, his heart beats, but the other half of his soul is missing. Fear claws its way into his chest at the thought of being alone, all alone after his mother and father and now Sammy have all left him, settles in his bones like some decrepit bird that won’t leave no matter how he tries to shoo it away. He touches Sam’s fingers to ground himself. Solid reality. 

Dean takes another swig from the bottle of whiskey and grabs the keys to the Impala. The cold bites into his skin like a brittle January winter, not the middle of May, meant for flowers and new growth. He wonders if the world has always been so gray. 

He doesn’t shake, doesn’t tremble at the thought of what he’s about to do; his hands are steady on the wheel. Simply put, it’s just another one of his absolutes. 

It’s what he’s gotta do—watch out for his pain in the ass little brother, right? 


End file.
